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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress – Chapter Five

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CHAPTER FIVE
Sarah studied Jim’s display of Cody’s pictures on the bookshelves on either side of the fireplace as she listened to him clinking dishes into the dishwasher. The photos took Cody from plump babyhood in an old fashioned pram to the most recent ones in a little league baseball uniform. He had Jim’s dark hair and dimpled chin, but blue eyes like his mother. He looked tall for thirteen, so she guessed he took after his father in the height department, too. He smiled unself-consciously at the camera as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“That’s my boy,” Jim said as he entered the room, carrying a folder full of papers.
“Good looking. Takes after his old man.”
He smiled. “Thanks for the unexpected compliment. But I think he looks more like Gail.”
She heard the note of wistfulness that came over him whenever he mentioned his ex-wife’s name. It was like a theme song he played forever in her memory. For a moment, she wished someone would play a theme like that for her. But only for a nano second.
“I gather all that is information on Alexa Reed?”
“You are correct. Since our client wouldn’t tell us anything about herself, I did some digging. Here, sit down and let me show you.”
She would have preferred the seat across the room where she couldn’t smell the clean, spring smell of his soap and the light starch in his shirt, but he had laid the folder on the coffee table between them. She caught her breath when he opened it, and she saw Alexa Reed as she’d once been.
“That’s her engagement photo, taken in 2004, just after she graduated number one in her class from Georgetown. She was editor of the law review.”
Sarah couldn’t believe the exquisite little blonde with the enormous blue eyes, flawless complexion, and perfect cupid’s bow mouth was the woman they’d seen on the jail cot that afternoon. She felt Jim’s eyes on her as she stared at the picture.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” he said.
“She’s gorgeous.”
“She’s amazingly talented, too.”
Sarah felt that inappropriate stab of jealousy again. “How so?”
“She was born in Fairfax, Virginia, in 1980, making her thirty-three today. Her parents died in a car accident when she was six. She was raised by her grandmother, and had a habit of winning academic honors. She was the valedictorian of her class at Jefferson High and then went to Yale, your law alma mater, on a full academic scholarship. She graduated with honors in history and then went to Georgetown for law school where she met Michael Reed. They were engaged in 2004 when they both graduated from law school but didn’t get married until the spring of 2005. I assume they delayed the wedding so Alexa could spend that year clerking for Justice Mary Moreno, Coleman Reed’s colleague on the U.S. Supreme Court. Otherwise she’d have been stuck with a clerkship at the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals like Michael because nepotism would have kept them both out of Coleman Reed’s court.
“In 2005, which was also the year Alexa’s grandmother died, they finished their clerkships, got married, and took jobs at Warrick, Thompson, Coleman Reed’s old firm. Michael went to work in litigation. Alexa was assigned to Chuck Reilly, their one and only appellate lawyer.”
Sarah continued to turn through the photographs of Alexa that Jim had found. She was a lawyerlike petite blonde, hair slicked into a tight bun and wearing an expensive dark suit next to Justice Moreno in one. In another, she stood between Justice Moreno and her father-in-law, Coleman Reed, still wearing a professional face. In another series of shots, she was the tiny, perfect bride in satin and white lace on a handsome Michael Reed’s arm.
“They were a good looking couple,” Sarah observed. Michael’s dark hair and eyes were a perfect counterpoint to Alexa’s light coloring.
“I think he was lucky to get her. She’s much better looking than he is.”
Sarah studied the wedding picture again. Although Michael had a Gerard Butler boyish charm, he had also inherited Coleman Reed’s too square face and stubborn jaw.
“He looks as if he could be a tough character.”
Jim nodded. “Heartless might be more to the point. Alexa had Meggie in 2007, after she’d been at the firm just two years. Six months later, she was pregnant again with Sam. She tried to go back to work, but by October 2008, she’d turned in her resignation. Three months later, in January 2009, Michael filed for divorce, seeking custody of the children. Sam, who had been born in March 2008, was less than a year old; and Michael wanted to take that baby away from his mother.”
“Callous, I agree. What is even more interesting is Trevor Martin’s claim that Alexa started the divorce proceedings.”
“All wrong. It was Michael.” Jim held up a copy of the divorce petition.
“Where’d you get that so fast?”
“I have my tricks. Don’t ask too many questions, and don’t worry, I know how to get copies through regular channels if we need them as court exhibits at trial. But in the meantime, I knew we had to have immediate information.”
“Wow, I can’t believe Martin got something as important as who initiated the divorce so wrong. I wonder what else he lied about? He called her a crazy manipulative bitch.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s going to turn out to be a lie, too.” Jim said, looking down at Alexa’s smiling engagement picture as Sarah fought back that stab of jealousy once more. Suddenly her phone began to ring, and she jumped up to fish it out of her bag. David’s picture appeared on the screen. She felt Jim watching her.
“I have to take this.” She pressed the accept button. “Hello? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight. Oh, I see. Well, I’m just finishing up my meeting with my investigator. I can be at your house in, say, thirty minutes.”
She looked up to find Jim’s eyes still fixed on her, dark and unreadable.
“I take it that was your guy?”
“David. Yes.”
“How did he break free of the wife?”
“She decided to go to Cabo after all.”
“There are no flights this late.”
“David’s company has a private jet. She took that.”
“Ah, perfect for you, then.”
“Perfect.” Sarah was relieved to be leaving behind the conflicting feelings he aroused in her. Things were much simpler with David. Straight up sex, no strings attached. “Thank you for all the work you’ve done today.”
“My pleasure.” But he didn’t look at all happy she thought.
“So I’ll see you Friday at nine at Percy Andrews’ office. I’ll text you the address. Thanks for a lovely dinner.”
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Dark Moon, A Work on Progress – Chapter Four

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CHAPTER FOUR
A jail is nothing but gray, Sarah thought on Tuesday afternoon. She and Jim had been sitting in gray metal chairs at the gray metal table in the attorney-client interview room for a half hour without any sign of Alexa Reed. Sarah looked around to keep from being mesmerized by Jim’s gentle eyes, studying her from his seat at the end of the table. He looked good in a suit. She’d never seen him in one before. Feelings would complicate things; she couldn’t have feelings. But his eyes tempted her to have them. She needed a night with David and soon to make her forget about Jim. Hadn’t he said his wife was in Cabo this week? She’d call him after work, and see if he was free that evening.
She took in the dust-gray walls, the gray chairs and the table where they were seated, the gray door they had come through and the metal bars over the peek-hole window. A guard in a gun-metal gray uniform peering at them through the large glass security window directly in front of her completed the set. Sarah hadn’t been in a jail in a long time. Her clients were all wealthy business executives who bypassed lockup with millions of dollars worth of bail.
“I think she’s standing us up,” Jim said.
“Maybe. Trevor said she’s been curled up in a fetal position and hasn’t spoken since the preliminary hearing.”
“So she’s incompetent to stand trial.”
“I’d say yes for sure, but there’s a hearing September 3 to make that determination. I’m going to interview the psychologist who’s evaluating her as soon as I can get an appointment.”
“You’ll want me there in case he lies on the stand at the hearing.”
Despite her best judgment, Sarah’s eyes darted to his and remained fixed on their brown depths longer than she’d intended. “Yes, I will. Definitely.”
The gray metal entrance door began to slide to the right, extremely slowly, creaking as it moved. She and Jim turned toward it, thinking Alexa was about to appear. Instead, they saw only a portly fortiesh woman guard with a sour look on her face.
“Are you Sarah Knight?” she demanded. “Where’s you bar card?”
Sarah tried to stifle her annoyance, knowing a rise from her was what this nameless jail official wanted; but she’d shown her state bar identification card more times in the last half-hour than she had ever displayed it in her entire career. She was tired of dragging it out of her wallet.
But she did, and the guard scanned it for several minutes as if she thought it was counterfeit.
“And you? “ she demanded of Jim. “Where’s yours?”
Without a word, he patiently handed over both his California bar card which showed he was on inactive status as a lawyer, and his private investigator’s license. Sarah noticed he fumbled with his ex-FBI agent’s association id card for the grumpy guard’s benefit.
“You used to be an agent?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why are you working for defense lawyer scum?”
“Have to make a living.” Jim gave her a half-smile and put his credentials away.
“Well, bad news. Your client won’t get up to talk to you. She’s lying on her bunk, eyes open, saying nothing.”
“And this has gone on for some time?”
“Since they brought her back from the prelim on June 17. Somehow she eats enough to stay alive. But that’s it.”
“I’d like to go down to her cell and introduce myself,” Sarah said. “She’s never met me.”
“It’s against jail policy.”
“I can get a court order if you’d rather.”
The guard frowned at them both, delaying the moment when she’d have to admit defeat.
“You don’t have to. I’ll escort you down there.”
The interior corridors were even grayer, Sarah reflected a few minutes later as she and Jim followed the woman to Alexa’s cell. They twisted and turned through narrow hallways with the astringent smell of lemony disinfectant until they reached the tiny space Alexa Reed occupied.
Their sour guide dialed a combination lock on the door of the cell, and then used a key to complete opening it. Sarah and Jim stepped inside when it swung open, but there was barely room for both in the tiny dark space lit only by a three by three window high up on the outside wall.
She was a tiny bag of bones, Sarah reflected as she looked down at the woman in the navy blue prison scrubs curled up on the single cot. Her blonde hair was matted and uncombed, and apparently unwashed for weeks. Her large light blue eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused and distant. She was about five feet tall, Sarah guessed, and must have weighed all of ninety pounds.
She knelt by the cot. “Alexa, I’m Sarah Knight, your new attorney. And this is my investigator, Jim Mitchell. We’ve come to hear your side of things. Will you go down to the interview room with us where we can talk?”
No response. Alexa’s blue eyes remained blank and fixed on the opposite wall.
Jim leaned over and took one of Alexa’s small hands in his much larger one. Sarah couldn’t explain why she didn’t like that. She thought she saw a flicker in Alexa’s otherwise vacant blue eyes when Jim took her hand, but it might have been her imagination.
“She isn’t going to talk to you,” the hostile guard announced. “You’re going to have to leave.”
Jim let go of Alexa’s tiny fingers and stood up. He really did look good in a suit, Sarah thought once more, and then wondered why she was thinking about Jim’s looks and Alexa’s hand in his.
Sarah stood also and turned toward the door. Suddenly, on impulse, she paused and fished one of her business cards out of her brief case. She pressed it into Alexa’s unresponsive hands.
“Here’s my card, Alexa. We’re here to help you.”
* * *
That night, Sarah found herself standing in front of Jim’s olive green bungalow at seven thirty. He’d insisted on making dinner again to give them a chance to talk over the day’s events. She had called David as soon as she’d gotten back to her office, ready to cancel the evening with Jim if he was free. But his wife had unexpectedly backed down from her Cabo trip, so seeing him was out of the question. Had Tessa guessed about their relationship? That possibility nagged at Sarah as she thought of calling Jim to set up a meeting at a restaurant where she would feel more in control. But the need for confidentiality trumped her scruples about being alone with him.
He put a glass of cabernet in her hand and motioned for her to take a seat on one of the tall stools around the island in his kitchen.
“I was in the mood for burgers, although not the ones you burn over a gas grill. Feeling the French bistro vibe tonight, so I’ve made grilled onion confit and Bearnaise sauce and shoestring sweet potato fries.”
“I’ll have to work out tomorrow for sure.”
He turned from stirring the onions and gave her a once over. “I doubt that. You look very Audrey Hepburn tonight in those black skinny pants and black shirt with your hair cut short like hers. Do people ever tell you that you look like her?”
“Once in a while. When they don’t otherwise know my ‘day job.’”
“I have to admit you had me fooled that night at Trend.”
Was it really less than a week since they’d met, Sarah reflected. Why did she feel as if she’d always known him?
“That was tough today at the jail,” Jim observed, turning back to his onions.
“Yes, it was.” Sarah paused to take a long drink of her wine, wondering if she should have asked for scotch instead.
“She’s barely alive.”
“Trevor Martin warned me, but it was much worse than I’d pictured.”
“She’ll be declared incompetent to stand trial. She’s completely incapable of assisting with her defense.”
“Yeah, that’s blatantly obvious. Still, I want to interview Percy Andrews to find out what he’s going to say at that competency hearing. I’ve got an appointment with him on Friday at 9 in the morning.”
“I’ll be there with bells on.”
* * *
They ate in Jim’s small dinning room at a small antique maple table. He dialed the lights down, and lit candles in clear glass holders. Sarah wondered if he considered the evening a business or personal occasion.
“How long have you been in San Diego?” He asked as he put the plates on the table and motioned for her to take the seat opposite his.
“Since January. What about you?”
“Two years, now. It’s easier being on the opposite coast.” His eyes darkened as he spoke, but he gave her that gentle, honest smile that she found hard to resist. “Do you miss New York?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why didn’t you go with a big firm here like Warwick, Thompson?”
“I thought about it. I talked to Alan Warwick. In the end, I was tired of working for someone else.”
Jim smiled. “I can understand that. Any broken hearts left behind in New York?”
“Only the ones I mentioned the other night, the dry cleaning delivery boy and the Chinese food messenger. But I doubt they miss anything but the tips. I was always generous. What about you?” Why was she picturing him holding Alexa Reed’s tiny fingers?
“I’ve tried. No luck. Still head over heels for Gail.”
Jealousy was an inappropriate emotion Alexa reminded herself as he refilled her wine glass. “What is she like?”
“Funny, smart, beautiful. Taffy hair, big blue eyes. Knockout figure. Grew up in Boston. She teaches third grade and loves it. Cody has a half-sister, Brittany, whom he adores.”
Sarah studied him across the table. A white knit shirt tonight with navy linen pants. Such a kind, gentle face. Hard to believe he hadn’t found someone else by now.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
“My hourly rate is a lot higher than that.”
“Guess I can’t afford them, then.”
“I thought you were a trust fund baby.”
He laughed. “I tend to forget about the old man’s money. I did without it all those years. Ok, I’ll pay your hourly rate if you tell me why you’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“As if you were reading my mind.”
“Now that would be a useful skill for a defense attorney. But I don’t do mind reading. I was just thinking a guy like you should have hooked up with someone by now.”
“I could say the same about you.” The tone of his voice made her tummy flutter, and she decided this conversation had to end and quickly.
“I do see someone. From time to time.”
Did he look disappointed? She wasn’t sure.
“Lucky him. What’s he like?”
“A busy important, CEO of a commercial real estate firm. His brother, who works for him, had a minor problem with the Securities and Exchange Commission last winter, just after I got here.”
“And you took care of it for him?”
“Made it all go away.”
Jim studied her in the candlelight. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Sara traced the circle of the bottom of her wine glass. “Now you’re reading minds.”
“I’ve interviewed hundreds of witnesses. I know when someone’s holding back.”
Her dark eyes met his, and she smiled. “You’re really good. I’ll give you credit. David Scott is very married.”
“Ah, I see.” He crossed his knife and fork on his plate in a gesture of finality before bringing his eyes back to study hers. “Then why waste your time?”
“He’s witty, well educated, and charming.” And I can’t fall in love with him. But Sarah would never say that out loud.
“Does the wife know?”
She frowned as she thought of the defunct Cabo trip. “I don’t think so.”
“But you’re not sure.”
“She was supposed to be in Cabo tonight.”
“And he was supposed to be with you?”
“But she cancelled. I don’t think it had anything to do with me and David.”
“Well, my luck that she stayed in town.” He leaned over and started to refill her glass, but she put her hand over the top.
“I’m driving, remember?”
“And I’ve got that guest room, remember? This was a tough day. You need it. Let me put the plates in the sink and then join you in the living room. I’ve learned a lot about Alexa Reed since this afternoon. I think you’re going to be interested in what I’ve found out.”
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Work in Progress: Dark Moon, A Novel – Chapter Two

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CHAPTER TWO
Her second thoughts about Jim Mitchell began the moment she walked out of Trend, and they continued as she rang the bell at his Pacific Beach bungalow the following night. The house stood out from its beige stucco neighbors in a fresh coat of olive green paint with bright red begonias smiling from the flowerbeds. Not only did he seem strong and wise, seasoned in the ways of the world and his own man, he also appeared to have an artistic streak. She liked him; but, at the same time, she questioned her decision to hire him. This was a new experience for her. She had advanced in the competitive world of Craig, Weller because she was smart and because she had excellent judgment. She rarely had any reason to think twice once she’d made a decision.
But Jim presented a number of challenges beginning with his dark hair, decisively dimpled chin, and firm, square-jawed good looks. He was six feet, two hundred pounds of well-honed muscle that any woman would have found attractive, and she never dated or slept with anyone she worked with. It was a rule set in stone. And even though Jim’s background meant he knew his way around the tough world of criminal defense, he had the kindest brown eyes she had ever seen; and their empathy tempted her to open up about herself in a way she would never have considered with anyone else. But never looking back was another implacable rule. Finally, his honesty about his responsibility for the loss of his marriage and his love for his former wife, surprisingly tugged at her heart, an organ that was nearly impossible to touch after years spent turning herself into one of the toughest lawyers on Wall Street. So Sarah considered telling Jim Mitchell the deal was off as soon as they had settled down to dinner on his charming patio in the ocean-scented remnants of the soft summer evening.
But she hesitated. He was not the average private detective. Even his dress that night was not average California casual. No slouchy knit shirts and faded jeans. Instead, he wore an I-mean-business blue Oxford cloth shirt, sleeves rolled back to the elbows, and impeccable tan linen slacks. Everything about him broadcast confidence and professionalism. If she searched the entire west coast for an investigator to work on behalf of Alexa Reed, she couldn’t do better than Jim. And loyalty to her client was, according to the cannons of legal ethics, her top priority.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” She had just tasted the lamb chops in a delicate mustard cream sauce with tiny spring peas and braised leeks.
“You were expecting steaks from the butane grill.” His eyes teased her.
“Most definitely. You do not look like a sous chef.”
He grinned. “Thank you, I think. My mother came from old money. Her father was an investment banker and a Cravath client. She insisted on having a professional chef. I liked hanging out in the kitchens to learn about cooking. Drove my old man nuts because he was afraid I’d go to culinary school.”
“You’d have been very successful.”
“Doubtless. But in the end, I wanted to catch the bad guys more.” He smiled. “My cooking skills came in handy when I was living on a government salary and couldn’t afford five-star restaurants.”
“And now you can?”
“In theory. My father died three years ago and left me, his only child, his fortune along with my mother’s money. In trust, of course. But the monthly payments have made me financially independent. It’s unlikely I’ll ever need to touch the capital.”
“So why keep working? And on the side of the bad guys?”
“I keep working because I love doing investigations. Every one is a new story, with a new plot, and new characters. And the clients aren’t ‘bad guys.’ They’re innocent people I’m keeping out of prison. I’m still on the side of justice.”
“Well, then, you may not want to work on Alexa Reed’s case. She’s very guilty.”
“Tell me about it.”
Sarah sighed and traced patterns on the base of her wine glass with one finger. “In the interests of full disclosure, I should let you know that I didn’t want this case.”
“How’d you get it, then?”
“When I left Craig, Lewis and set up shop out here alone, I brought a few clients with me who are based in Los Angeles. One was accused of masterminding a Ponzi scheme, two others were indicted for insider trading, and the fourth was on the hook for racketeering.”
“Isn’t defending clients under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act a speciality of yours?”
She felt herself stiffen and hoped he didn’t notice. “I’ve done a few RICO cases, that’s true.”
“But you won one of the most influential and toughest cases of all time, the Joey Menendez case.”
Sarah’s mouth went dry at the name, and she gulped a sip of wine to make her tongue work. “How’d you know about Menendez?”
“It’s famous throughout law enforcement. You persuaded a jury to acquit the head of the Menendez drug cartel of six counts of murder for hire and twenty counts of extortion. No one ever thought that would happen, including the U.S. Attorney who opposed you. What’s wrong? You look upset.”
“No. Of course not.” But she gripped the base of the wine glass to keep her hands from shaking. He was violating one of her iconoclastic rules: don’t look back. She needed to change the subject quickly. “Anyway, I didn’t want the Alexa Reed case.”
“So how’d you become counsel of record then?”
“In a word: blackmail. Last month I settled all but one of the four cases I started with. I’ve picked up one or two new ones as I’ve gone along, but they are all out of L.A. I haven’t developed any business in San Diego. So I put my name on the list of attorneys willing to accept trial court appointments for indigent defendants. Yesterday morning, Hal Remington, who heads the appointments panel called and insisted I come to his office at 10 a.m.”
“He couldn’t offer you the case on the phone?”
“Apparently not.” Her hands had stopped shaking, and she paused to fortify herself with a sip of wine.
“So what happened?”
“I found his office in the basement of the old Justice Building on the third try. They’ve hidden it pretty well. Remington turned out to be a scruffy version of Ichabod Crane, slouched behind a desk so covered in paper, I doubt he’s ever filed anything in his entire career. He told me he was appointing me on Alexa Reed’s case, and I said no.”
Jim leaned over and poured more Australian Shiraz into her class as he asked, “And then?”
“And then he said if I didn’t take the case, I’d never work in this town. He’d personally guarantee it.”
“I didn’t know whether to believe him or laugh in his face.”
“I hope you believed him.”
“What do you mean?”
“People have their own way here. Money and influence talk.”
“But surely they follow the state bar’s ethical rules just like everyone else?”
“Some do. Some don’t. Have you ever heard of Patrick Frega?”
She shook her head.
“He was a San Diego attorney. Back in 1992, he was caught by us feds bribing two very willing superior court judges. They all three got disbarred and sentenced to federal prison. What did you tell Remington after he threatened to blackball you?”
“I told him I couldn’t take the Reed case because I’m not death qualified in California. Alexa is facing the death penalty because it was a double murder.”
“And then what?”
“Remington said my death qualification in New York was enough, and I’d better take the case. Then he leaned over his desk and said, ‘For a woman who graduated number three in her class from Yale, you’re kind of dense. You’re getting this case because you aren’t qualified, and you’ll lose it because that’s exactly what Coleman Reed wants. He wants the woman who killed his son to die by lethal injection as quickly as possible. You and twelve citizens of this city are going to oblige him. You were hand-picked because you look qualified, but you aren’t.”
“He actually said that?”
“I wish I’d been wearing a wire. I asked him what made him think I’d lose; after all, I did graduate number three, and I’m a quick study.”
“And?”
“And he said, ‘Yeah, you were editor of the law review at Yale. Big f’ing deal. That means nothing in this town. I’m It when it comes to handing out defense work. You want to survive professionally? Better not win Alexa Reed’s case.’
“When I reminded him that was unethical, he laughed and said, ‘Then go tell the state bar. You’ll never prove a word out of my mouth. There’s only me and you in this room, and I’ve been appointing lawyers for twenty years. Everyone knows me, but you’re some New York hot-shot who doesn’t belong here. It’s my word against yours, and mine will win. Why don’t you go back where you belong?”
“Wow. So you took the case?”
“He made me angry. I wasn’t going to let anyone treat me like that.”
“Who had the case before you?”
“Trevor Martin. He represented her at the preliminary hearing. I picked up her file from his office yesterday, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. I read his withdrawal motion. He claims his mother has inoperable brain cancer, but I think he just doesn’t want to lose a high-profile case.”
Jim reached over to refill her glass one more time, but she put her hand over it. “No, thanks. I’m driving.”
“You can stay here. I have a guest room.”
She looked through the open french doors into his living room, full of an eclectic mix of old and new furniture, antiques and Ikea pieces. Maple and mahogany and a few painted chairs and chests here and there. Cozy and comfortable. The kind of room you’d be tempted to put your feet up in and snuggle into a soft throw on the sofa. Jim was probably like that, too. Safe and comforting. She reminded herself she didn’t get close to men who were like that. She had one-night stands with married men like David, and men she’d never see again. But men like Jim, who were capable of relationships, were dangerous to the self-contained, tightly controlled world she had created.
Her dark eyes locked onto his mellow, softer ones. “No, thanks. And let’s get one rule very clear: I never sleep with anyone I work with.”
“I wasn’t inviting you into my room. There really are two.” He grinned, and the tension broke. “Now, tell me why we’re going to lose.”
She shrugged. “Simple really. She did it. June 2 was a Sunday night. Meggie, who’s six and Sam, who’s five, were with their father at his house on Mount Soledad in La Jolla. Alexa was alone in her rented place in Pacific Beach. Ronald Brigman, who lived about ten minutes away from Michael, had a surveillance camera recording traffic at his front door. The video footage shows Alexa arriving alone at 9:00 p.m. but doesn’t show her leaving. Brigman was killed around 11:00 that night and Michael was shot about twenty minutes later. Meggie called Alexa on her cell phone around 11:15, and the call pinged off a tower that shows Alexa moving from Brigman’s to Michael’s. The Glock .9 millimeter used in both murders was registered to her and was found next to Michael’s body. Ballistics show five bullets in Brigman, and four in Michael, all from her Glock.”
“A Glock magazine in California only holds ten rounds. So I’m assuming there was one left in the magazine?”
“No idea. I haven’t read anything other than Trevor Martin’s motion to withdraw. I’m going to look over the police reports and ballistics evidence tomorrow. I’m meeting with Martin at 10:00 on Monday morning.”
“Do you want me there?”
“No. I don’t expect him to be a witness in her case, and he’ll open up to me better if we’re alone. But I’m going to the jail to see Alexa Tuesday afternoon. I’ll need you then. Two o’clock.”
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